


Sleeper

by alizarin_nyc



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alizarin_nyc/pseuds/alizarin_nyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Jack gets under his skin.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeper

There is a coffee mug sitting in the middle of a thunderstorm of concentric brown rings, paper dandruff, and the day's detritus. Ianto reaches for it with a raised eyebrow of distaste. It's not the mess he minds so much as the people who leave it, knowing, as they surely must, that he will wipe all their sins clean by morning.

Gwen had been in a rush to get home to her husband. Maybe he forgives her for that.

The congealed skin of oily brown-white in the half-full mug has a tiny pea of mold in the middle. Like a fuzzy eye, it stares at him with reproach. It's just as ambivalent as Ianto about the sluicing water in both their futures, and the _dripdrip_ of the clean mug's washwater onto a fresh tea towel, another unlikely pair that will both be dirty by lunchtime.

Gwen's computer hasn't been shut off either, a point he will bring up at the next meeting. Torchwood's wasted enough electricity to light up a city the size of... well, Cardiff.

Tosh never left her computer on. But she was rarely gone by five, either.

Gwen's computer softly beeps and her screen clears from the wavy blue rift monitoring software to her desktop, where she's set up the high security Instant Messaging they've been cleared to use. Out of habit, Ianto fixes her keyboard so it's no longer askew and expects to see a silly message from a girlfriend who thinks Gwen works for a pharmaceutical company.

The square message box burns a hole in his head. It's from Jack. "Still there, Gwen? Late drinks?"

Innocuous. Nothing to worry about. Ianto's forehead gullies, even though Jack's told him a hundred times not to frown that way if he doesn't want to ruin his smooth boyish features.

He can't stop staring at Gwen's screen. Her keypad only responds to her fingerprints, so he can't jump on and pretend to be her, but suddenly, the part of him that plays on his boyish good looks wants to be more than skin deep. That part of him wants to play a boyish prank. It wants to let fly some boyish jealousy and catch his unfaithful lover in a dramatic prep school triangle, complete with toddler tantrum and teen threats of self-harm.

Jack gets under his skin.

"Not there, or ignoring me?" Jack's instant message pouts. Ianto hears the blinds crackle as Jack looks out from his upstairs office. Ianto doesn't care that Jack can see him, standing at Gwen's desk, Petri dish of a coffee mug in hand, catching him in the act of inviting a colleague for a drink after work. 

The blinds resettle and Jack's door opens, the sound as big as Jack himself.

Ianto remembers the first time they made love - for lack of a more suitable phrase for fucking. After Lisa, quick hand jobs had been the order of the day. They took the edge off and cut the boil down to a simmer. Jack wanted him, he wanted Jack, and that was the best solution at the time. He still had a lot to forgive himself for and Jack was nothing if not patient.

Later, Jack gave him blow jobs - expert, porn star blow jobs that blew his mind and filled him with a new energy and confidence around the office. He was handier than just the office boy, he could prove this. And Jack rewarded him. 

Then there was a time, laying back on Jack's cot, Jack between his legs, sucking on his cock with his soft-lipped suction, that he knew something was about to happen. Jack lifted his head and said that he wanted to fuck him. He didn't have to say _I'll make it good for you_ ; that was a given.

They did it gay missionary style: Ianto on his hands and knees, Jack controlling the slide of his fingers, steadying Ianto's hips with one hand. Ianto wanted to bite the pillow, to let his shaking arms fold under him and most of all, he wanted it all to feel as good as Jack's fingers were making it feel. The intrusion of Jack's cock was another matter. It was a new kind of pain.

Ianto gasped and Jack told him to breathe, breathe, and then Jack's hand on his back, rubbing gently was all Ianto could concentrate on until he was under enough control not to pull away and to think to himself _I've got a cock inside me._ Things greatly improved in the next few seconds when he started thinking _I have Jack's cock inside me._ Jack was still waiting for Ianto to adjust, his cock never flagged, he kept it there, and might have kept it there all night, unmoving, but Ianto finally breathed out completely and moaned Jack's name. 

"Push back against me," Jack said, and Ianto did and his whole body caught fire. His dick filled and rose and his spine arched. He pushed back and Jack thrust forward - suddenly it was working. He was getting fucked. It lit up his spine and gathered beneath it - and as soon as Jack's lube-slick hand started pumping his cock, he knew it was near the end. Jack's hand traveled over the head of his cock and down and back over again and Ianto was coming, shouting OH and OH, and Jack was not far behind him, making considerably less fuss.

After that it was open season. 

Jack fucks Ianto regularly. Ianto enjoys it. Torchwood life, fraught with danger and daily office politics, keeps Ianto on his toes.

He knows how Jack feels about Gwen. He really doesn’t mind. Then why is he standing here, like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar, feeling a flush of rage over Jack's message. It isn’t like a betrayal.

Ianto turns away from Gwen’s computer and goes to do the dishes. He rolls up his sleeves and keeps the water hot so that his hands turn pink. Jack doesn’t come out of his office so Ianto goes home when he’s finished. He’s gone home alone before, more often now that Tosh and Owen are gone. The new team members seem fairly standard fare, or maybe that’s because Ianto doesn’t know them very well yet. Nothing bonds you together like saving each others’ lives, and neither Anne nor Geoffrey have done that for him yet, or he for them. He can’t even imagine putting his life on the line for theirs.

Ianto walks along the bay and a cold wind blows spray in his face, misting him like an angry facialist. He’d once had a facial, and a massage, with Jack. They’d ended up in a three-way with the slim-hipped masseuse. The man was better suited for that kind of activity, anyway, throwing doubt onto the whole “spa” operation in Ianto’s mind.

With Jack, there is always someone else.

For a long while, it was the Doctor. The Doctor was around every corner, present in every casual mention of times before Torchwood, before Ianto. There was no escaping the Doctor, or the Doctor’s influence, particularly not for Jack, who had been in love with him. Jack never said as much but Ianto read the files, he’d been at Torchwood One, he saw the look on Jack’s face when he talked about the Doctor. It was enough. Ianto knew the Doctor was the love of Jack’s life – an unrequited love, the sort that kept one awake at night or unable to truly love anyone else.

That type of someone was just fine with Ianto as long as the Doctor mostly stayed away, which he did, and as long as the Doctor never felt the same way. If Jack was pining, Ianto could comfort him. He could do other things too. 

One night Jack asked him to role-play. They were in their usual spot for sex – an abandoned lab on the fourth sub-basement of Torchwood. Jack had a nice little bed down there, and other sorts of things, because he was a very kinky bastard. At Jack’s behest, Ianto wore a long brown coat and put copious amounts of gel in his hair. He put red sneakers on and wore a suit with an open-collared shirt. A pair of black-framed glasses and Ianto was as close to looking the part as he was likely to get.

Jack had him stand on a wooden box so they were nearer in height and then he closed his eyes. Ianto wanted to scream at him to open them, “look at me!” but that wasn’t what would keep Jack happy. 

Ianto reached up one hand and stroked Jack’s cheek. The look of painful vulnerability on Jack’s face was gratification enough. Ianto tilted Jack’s head to kiss him, soft, butterfly kisses on his lips. He’d read in the files that the Doctor was considered to be possibly asexual, possibly a terrible tease, possibly so emotionally damaged as to be beyond the reach of human touch, so Ianto kept _distance_ between them. That forever widening gap between the Doctor and Jack, between Jack and Ianto, between most of the people he knew and the people they loved.

Ianto rubbed Jack through his trousers, kissing him still, and when Jack became lost in his arousal, Ianto took him and turned him and roughly shoved him down on the bed. Maybe the Doctor would take Jack like this, but it didn’t matter because it was what Ianto wanted to do. He nearly ripped Jack’s clothes as he pushed them out of the way of his arse, and he didn’t bother to lube up, just forced his way in, panting heavily, and letting the silly glasses fall off his face and onto the bed where Jack could see them. Once inside Jack, he thrust as hard as he could, as many times as he could, until he came. Then he pulled out and left Jack to get himself off however he liked. 

Ianto left the room without looking back.

These days, it’s less and less about the Doctor. But since the three of them were left after the Doctor’s last visit – still grieving Tosh and Owen in their own ways – Jack has been more and more about a certain Married Lady, one he has always had an interest in. Jack flirts with Gwen, like he always does, but there is an edge to it. Ianto knows the look of longing, he’s felt it on his own face enough times. Jack likes the things he doesn’t think he can have.

It’s time to face what’s been there all along, whatever that means for his future.

Ianto’s phone vibrates wildly in his pocket. It’s Jack. 

“Where are you?” Jack is practically spitting into the phone.

“Out for a walk. Nearly back to the Hub. What is it?”

“Wait there, I’m coming around.” Ianto hears the squeal of tires on the pavement, the flash of white as the headlights bounce and he can see Jack’s face blurred through the windscreen. The door yawns at him and he jumps in, the tires missing his toes by millimeters.

Jack flashes him a grin. “Aliens in the outskirts. Fasten your seatbelt. They reproduce fast so we have to contain and control. Geoff’s sending us the data; Anne and Gwen are meeting us there. I need you sharp, Ianto.”

And just like that Ianto is seduced. All over again. Jack gives him an appraising glance, squeezes his knee with one hand and Ianto feels the adrenalin rush of danger. Jack's styrofoam cup of cold coffee has his teeth marks around the edge and it's jaunty in the cup holder; Ianto can smell a little whiskey. Street lamps stripe Jack's face as he grinds his teeth and shifts into fifth. There's nowhere Ianto would rather be, and later in Jack's bed, he'll feel the same way.

He’s in. For however long it lasts.

.


End file.
